


The Obvious Conclusion Affair

by Darklady



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: 60's attitudes, Amnesia, First Time, M/M, No actually not, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-10
Updated: 2012-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 13:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darklady/pseuds/Darklady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon Solo may not remember - but he's starting to suspect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Obvious Conclusion Affair

“Good to see you again, Mr. Solo.” The middle-aged lady from the rental office rises to shake my hand. According to the rental papers, her name is Janet Anson. To judge by her actions, I must know her well. Not too well, as she is over the age for my usual flirtations and her body language is more friendly then provocative. Even so, I struggle with my response.

“Good of you to get me the cabin three days early.”

“Nonsense.” Her smile turns motherly, which means I have guessed correctly. “ This is the slow season. They should be delighted that you want it.”

She turns to my partner. “I talked them into half rate for the extra days, since it would otherwise be empty. Because I know you’re the thrifty sort.” Her Vermont accent broadens in clear approval. “And I went out myself this morning, so you can be assured the kitchen is stocked and the utilities are on.”

“Most kind.” Illya honestly smiles as he picks the keys off of her desk. He has always had a soft spot for motherly women. “I was hoping we could eat in after our long drive. Not that the diner is not excellent..”

“But there's nothing like home,” she finishes in total agreement. Clearly they have had this talk before, although just when currently escapes me. I let Illya carry the conversation for a few minutes more as I sign the papers and make out the additional check. Not too bad. I haven't seen this cabin - that I remember - but compared to a hotel in New York? Vermont is a bargain.

Another round of handshakes and we are headed out to the car. Illya is driving, and for once I do not even bother to protest. He, at least, remembers where we are going. And I do not. Which is the problem.

I close my eyes and think back to yesterday afternoon. A recent memory. Almost my only recent memory.

“Napoleon. Napoleon!” Illya’s voice was in my ear and his hand was on my shoulder.

“What?” I blinked at the light. The U.N.C.L.E. infirmary. Illya standing by my bed. Mr. Waverly seated nearby. A quick check, but nothing hurt enough to be serious. ”What hit me this time?” I asked.

Dr. Leslie Graham was standing by my shoulder. Which told me matters were serious. “Mr. Solo. What is the last thing that you remember?”

“Parachuting out of a plane, but...,” that was not anywhere near here, I almost say.

Dr. Graham looked grimly pleased at that. Not quite happy, but somehow satisfied. As if I had fit some expectation of hers. “A bit of confusion is to be expected. You took the amnesia drug.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?”

No, by definition I should not remember amnesia. “So,” I pushed myself up to sit on the side of the bed. “How long do I have to go?”

“That is the question.” Her eyes shifted to Mr. Waverly. “ Normally an agent recovers after 48 hours, but...”

“But?”

“I’m afraid that, combined with the truth serum T.H.R.U.S.H. tried to use, the effect may extend a bit beyond the original time-frame.”

“You’re not telling me this is permanent?”

“Of course not, Mr. Solo. Our experiments do show the effects to be transient.” She looked over at Illya, who nodded agreement. “It merely may...take a while.”

“How long?” I asked.

“A week. Ten days at most.”

“Impossible.” I eased off the bed, gratified that I could stand without visible dizziness. “I have to...”

“No, Napoleon.” Illya stepped forward. “That was one of the other side effects. Today is June 28th .”

“Impossible.” I search his eyes, but see only truth. “You are telling me I lost not 48 hours but almost six months?”

“Temporarily, Mr. Solo,” Dr. Graham answered in a voice meant to be soothing. “Only temporarily”

“But how can I..?”

“Well, you can’t,” Mr. Waverly interjected from his seat. “ Rather obviously.”

“Then?” My question was ‘how can I be an agent’, but I couldn't bring myself to ask it. 

“Fortunately, you and Mr. Kuryakin were scheduled for vacation starting this weekend anyway.” Waverly rose, slipping his unlit pipe back into his pocket. “I believe I will extend that a bit. You two can start whenever the report on this incident is finished.” After a glare from Dr. Graham he added, “And when the Doctor releases you.”

Illya nodded. “If you will give me an hour, I will have the report on your desk by the time Napoleon is ready to be released.”

I smiled at that. One benefit of the memory drug is that the unaffected partner always wrote up the report. Which this time would be Illya. Without his usual complaints.

“Then Napoleon and I can share a cab,” Illya continued.

“A cab?” I said. “Why not my car?”

“Car?” Both Illya and Waverly looked confused for a moment. “Oh, that car.” Waverly pulled his pipe back out of his pocket. “Totaled, I'm afraid. Truck ran over it. “

“A truck!” That was my brand new Jaguar, and a truck ran *over* it!

Waverly shrugged. “It was full of T.H.R.U.S.H. minions at the time and...well, you will remember soon enough. Until then, rest! That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

I must have fallen asleep, perhaps even been dreaming, because the next sensation is a hand a hand on my shoulder and Illya’s voice in my ear. 

“Napoleon.”

“What?” The car is no longer moving.

“We are here”

I look around. The ‘cabin’ is less rustic then I had feared. A modern a-frame of cedar and glass set with its patio extending over a pretty stream. The water is too shallow for serious fishing, but pleasant enough for an afternoon’s recreation. As this is our second trip I suppose I should have trusted that it would be at least endurable but...what in the world is so attractive about this place that I would chose to spend an entire vacation here? Twice?

As I help Illya pull our luggage from the trunk, I think back to yesterday’s ride. So different, yet in some ways so similar.

Between Illya’s need to finish the report and my rush to get out of the infirmary, we were in the taxi and headed home before we had any real chance to think. And the amnesia was distracting. Even so, after a few moments I did notice that the cab was not taking the expected route.

“Illya?” I turned to my partner “Shouldn't the driver drop you off first? Or have I forgotten my address as well?”

“No,” Illya answered carefully. “Yours is the same. Mine has changed.”

“Why?” I think my voice reflected a certain shock. Personnel had been offering Illya better quarters regularly since his assignment to New York became permanent, and had been just as regularly turned down.

“Mr. Loomis was reassigned to the European office, and I took over his apartment.”

“Really?” I was glad to hear the opening was due to happier then usual cause, but still...

Illya’s voice chilled a bit. “My seniority more then justified the apartment.”

“Of course, but...” I hadn’t meant to insult Illya by suggesting he did not deserve the better digs. God knows he always lived under his rank, not above. “I just thought you liked your old apartment. You must have turned down offers of better quarters at least a dozen times.”

“I liked that apartment. I like this one better.”

“OK. Sure.” No sense talking when Illya goes all Russian. The cab slowed, then stopped in front of a delightfully familiar door. I reached into my jacket, but.. “I seem to have forgotten my wallet.”

Illya paid the driver, muttering “That you would forget - amnesia or no.”

He walked with me to my door. Not that I required a baby sitter, but I suppose he wanted to be cautious. Not a bad trait in an agent. And, to tell the truth, I wasn’t feeling at all eager to part from him. So, as I turned the key I asked, “ Illya? Care to come in for a drink?” When he didn't answer immediately, I added. “Or have I forgotten to stock vodka as well?”

He hesitated, “No, you remembered that, but...”

“I understand.” I answered. And I did. If I got the truth juice, he had to have been on the rescue party. “You’re tired. I know I am. So. See you in the morning?”

He paused, then nodded. “In the morning, Napoleon.”

He was headed down the hall when I asked “Oh, by the way? Do you remember if I had a date tonight? I'd hate to stand a lady up. It would be cruel to make her feel...unmemorable.”

“No, Napoleon,” he answered, and I could hear how tired he was. “No date.”

That makes sense. If I was in a mission, I wouldn’t have had time to set one up. “One more question?” I asked.

“Yes?” he turned back.

“Any idea where I was going on vacation?”

“We had rented a cabin in Vermont. Near St. Johnsbury.”

“We? You mean we were going together?” Waverly’s idea, no doubt. Wouldn’t be the first time he imposed some R&R.

“If you would prefer...?”

“No.” I grinned. “I’m not about to argue with the old man. Especially when I can’t remember my best ammunition. What time?”

Illya was silent for a moment, almost as if calculating. “Nine, Napoleon. I will pick you up at nine.”

“Napoleon!” Illya’s voice brings me back to the present. I grab two suitcases, and tuck my shaving case under one arm. Illya has only one suitcase, naturally, but he does not volunteer to help with mine. I suspect I would resent it if he did. I may be out on leave, but I am not an invalid.

I check out the view while he unlocks the door. Oak, maple, pine. All fresh with spring growth. Acre after acre of lush green nothing. It reminds me of my Aunt Becca’s place and childhood summers spent ‘out of the city’ while my parents were off being political. Definitely a rest cure. No nightlife, but lots of hiking and fishing. The way I feel right now, that’s just what the Doctor ordered. Literally, I would bet. I’d call and thank the old man, but he’d probably send me for psychological reevaluation. Just not the Solo thing to do.

Inside, the cabin is nicer then I had hoped. Bigger then my apartment, and better furnished. The usual A-frame lay-out. One big central room. Open beams interspersed with brick and glass. Plank floor with rustic rag rugs and the occasional sheepskin. Overstuffed leather chairs. Dark iron fireplace in the center of the room, anchoring a sunken conversation pit. The perfect bachelors pad. I could seduce a log with this set-up. And from the looks of things, that’s about the only target I’m going to have.

An open plan kitchen screened off at one end, the bathroom tucked under the stairs at the other. Bedrooms must be in the loft. Pretty small, if they fit two of them up there. No problem. From the isolation of this place, I won’t be doing anything in it but sleeping.

Frankly thirsty after my nap in the car, I drop the luggage and head for the kitchen. I’ll let Illya pick his room, and take my stuff up to the other in a few minutes. If we’ve been here before he may have a preference, and I wouldn't want to upset him. He seemed rather tense on the drive up. Another reason Waverly put us on leave. Perhaps I should have insisted on reading the action files. I can’t remember the last mission, but if it was bad enough to throw Illya? The down time will do us both good.

I grab a soda from the fridge. Janet Anson was telling the truth. She did stock the place. Meat in the freezer, vegetables in the bin. Rather a change from eating out every night. Although I may not be doing that as much as I used to. Or so I suspect.

I consider that. The first thing I did when I got home last night was to check out my apartment. Automatic security run. I'd do that in my sleep, and sometimes have. It was pretty much as I remembered. A few more books left on the coffee table. I remember picking one up and deciding it must be Illya’s. Unless I was once more trying to read Russian. I have spoken the language for years - one of the reasons we were paired - and with Illya as my partner my accent has gotten nearly perfect. But reading it? The alphabet still gives me problems. I’ve tried once or twice to work on that, but never with much luck. Flipping open the book, I decided I hadn’t been lucky this time either.

The vacation packet was on the table as well. Address and rental agreement, and name of rental agent. Local map. All neatly organized. Heather must have arranged it. I checked my watch. Almost too late, but there was still a chance to catch the agent if she was working overtime. At least then I’d know if I had a place to sleep tomorrow night.

As luck would have it, she was in. And the cabin was definitely available early. I wasn’t certain if that was good or bad, but it would at least make Waverly happy.

That done, I headed for the kitchen. Not my usual first stop, but I was hungry. Between the apparently long day and my eagerness to get out of the infirmary, I must have skipped a few meals. Usually that means a call for Chinese, but this time I was lucky. Chivas on the second shelf, vodka in the freezer, and a few steaks in there too. I tossed one in the sink to defrost and checked the bins. Potatoes. Sour cream too. Good. I threw a spud in the oven to start baking. I’d add the steak after I took a shower. Much better then going out.

I headed over to the bathroom, picking up a few more of Illya’s books along the way. Maybe he *was* tutoring me. Which pretty much explained his attitude, I decided. Illya is generally reasonable, but it would be just like him to blame me for forgetting a few months of his lessons. Especially since, from the number of books, he had put out a lot of work. I made a mental note to thank him, and to remind him that whatever he had taught me I’d remember soon enough. This was, after all, just temporary.

The bathroom was a bit messier then I usually leave it. Extra used towels hanging over the shower rod. Must not have had a chance to do laundry. Or maybe the mission was just dirtier then usual. Whichever. There were still enough clean towels for tonight and tomorrow, and I could send them out to the laundry while I was gone. Waverly normally objects to the expense, but as he was the one sending me away early? Well, what choice did I have?

Still lots of hot water, thank God. One of the best things about this building. Along with the location. Probably the major reason the building had a waiting list. I was glad Illya had taken the chance to move in when he did. Who knew when another apartment would become available? Having him nearby would shorten both our commutes.

I checked my bruises. More then I’d like, but none that seemed serious. As soon as I got my memory back, I’d call it a good mission.

Feeling much more human, I decided to shave as well. I didn’t always in the evening unless I had a date. My beard is dark, but not all that heavy. Not for an Italian, any way. But I’d been feeling grimy since I’d woken up. A shave would help.

I opened the drawer. Two used razors? I had been a slob. I chucked them both and started fresh. The shave was a good idea. Afterwards I felt much better. Two tooth brushes as well? That made me feel a bit better about the mess. I must have had one of the other agents over waiting on a stake out. Likely Mark or Paul. I would have been polite and offered them a chance to clean up. That’s one of the reasons I keep disposables. No way to guess which one is mine. I toss them both.

Reaching into the medicine cabinet, I looked for a replacement. None. No toothpaste either? I checked the drawer. Yep. Toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, lube...LUBE! How did...? I checked over the half used tube of KY. How did that get here? I would never be careless enough to bring *that* sort of date home. Hell, I never brought *any* date home. Strictly against policy. Maybe for an assignment? Oh well. If it was that sort of assignment, maybe I should be just as glad I didn’t remember it. That would also explain Illya’s snarlyness. He’d take those assignments. We all will. Duty demands. But he’s never taken them with much grace.

Reaching for the hook, I found two bathrobes. Top one looked new. And nice. Although why I bought a second when black is not really my color? Still, it was cooler then the old one. Very comfortable.

Which reminded me I would have to pack. Knowing Illya, if he said nine he would be here at 8:45. And heaven help me if I wasn’t ready to go.

I threw the suitcase on the bed and opened the closet. Which was slightly more crowded then I remembered. Hopefully because I’d picked up a few new suits? No such luck. The one at the end was Illya's. I must have picked up his dry cleaning along with my own. I checked. Yes, I had a few of his shirts in there also. Oh well, I could give them back in the morning. Or when we got back from vacation. Not much demand for office fashion in the wilds of Vermont. I threw in my slacks and sport coat, plus a couple of decent shirts and ties just in case. Until my memory was back, I suspected I wasn’t going to see much of the social scene. Not with Illya in charge.

My own laugh brought me back to the present. No social scene was right. This far out we’d be hard put to find a neighbor with a map and compass. I grabbed a glass and ice and headed back to the main room.

I aimed for the wrap sofa surrounding a sunken fire pit. To one side another cluster of chairs sat in front of the console TV. At least here I can watch TV. I thought back to last night’s efforts at entertainment.

By the time I was out of the shower the steak was defrosted. I threw it under the broiler and poured myself a drink. At least in my new domesticity I had remembered to shop for Scotch as well. That, I decided, counted in my favor.

Taking my drink to the couch, I turned on the stereo. Which was loaded with violin records. Definitely Illya. How long had he been waiting here anyway? That must have been some stake out.

Giving up on the music, I reached for the TV Guide. Where was it? Not on the end table. Possibly the drawer? I check. Readers Digest, Theater Review, condoms, more lube... more Lube? I picked up the also-used tube of KY as if it were a bomb. Which it might as well be. What the hell! I was seriously slipping if I’d been getting that careless. Maybe I needed that vacation more then I thought. Dead serious. Waverly might forgive a few quirks in a good agent, but the word there was good. I *never* indulged in New York, much less in my own home. That was just begging for blackmail! Unless? It could still be an assignment.

I considered that. Who could I ask? And how? Better to be cautious and wait for my memory to return. Then I could take whatever steps necessary. I was still mulling over the possibilities when the timer clanged to say that my steak was done. And I was still considering it now, a day later, because if it was not evidence of an unfortunate assignment, then.....

I set down my glass and start back for my luggage. One way to learn. I head up the stairs. One bedroom, on a alcove open to the main hall. Illya is almost finished with his unpacking.

At the top of the stairs, I freeze. One bedroom. One bed. King size, but still only one. That does it.

I am tempted to take a deep breath, but Illya would certainly notice. And right now I’m a bit too nervous to give him any clue to how nervous I am. The evidence is there. Overwhelmingly there. Or so I think. If I’m wrong? Well, Illya probably won’t kill me. Waverly would certainly object to that. Probably won't even injure me - physically. But given Illya’s background that still leaves a lot of space to make me regret my mistakes. Still, no way out but through, so...

“How long?” I ask.

“What?” Illya looks up.

“How long have we been lovers?”

“Why would you think....?”

“I’m amnesiac, not incompetent.” I step into the room. “The evidence in my apartment, the one bedroom here. Waverly's insistence that we leave together rather then my remaining in New York...”

“Four months.”

I carefully let out the breath I wasn’t aware I was holding. “OK.” I drop my first suitcase on a chair, opening it to unfold my jacket and pants.

Illya looks surprised. “I thought you’d have more questions.”

“If we’ve been together four months we’re obviously happy.” Smoothing out the wrinkles, I hand the clothes on their hangers over to Illya, who is closer to the closet. “Since he sent us off together Waverly obviously knows.”

“I would never lie to Mr. Waverly.” Illya sounds shocked at the concept.

“Of course not. Neither would I. That’s not only stupid, it’s lethal.” I consider a moment as I unroll my ties. “I could ask when you were going to tell me, but the answer to that is clearly never.”

Illya nods, holding out a tie-hanger. “It is considered best to let amnesiacs remember emotional issues at their own pace.”

I accept the hanger, folding my ties carefully over the short rungs before handing it back. “So I suppose the only question left is... which you would rather do first?”

“First?”

I open the second suitcase and take out my folded shirts. If closet space is tight, these can go in a drawer. “Eat or fuck?”

“Oh.”

I lay the shirts in the dresser, along with my socks and briefs. “Personally, I could go either way. I’m not that hungry, but...”

Illya gives me a *look*. “You are taking this rather calmly...”

“Sorry.” I pull out my shaving kit. “Didn’t mean to short change you.” I consider a moment, then drop the kit on the bathroom counter. “Give me a short nap and I’ll probably be up to romantic, but it’s been a hard two days...”

“Not that.” Illya interrupts. “You know I do not care for romanticism...”

“Really?” I smile at his slightly excessive insistence. He is opaque to everyone else, but I have always been able to catch his evasions. Possibly because I know him so well, possibly just because I listen harder. “I always though you might change your opinion if you were the one being romanced.”

“So confident?” The snarky edge is back.

“I must do something right. As you said, four months.”

That catches him off guard. “Well... sometimes..”

“I thought so,” I answer, smiling openly at his flustered expression. “Those were pretty hot records on the stereo for a non-romance. We should still be enjoying our honeymoon.”

“Then, yes, but...once you forgot.” He pauses. “I kept remembering your distaste for masculine assignments.”

I shrug at that, closing the cases and stashing them at the top of the closet. “I’m not always that fond of my feminine assignments either, although on the whole they hurt a lot less....”

“I do not want a sacrifice...”

“What!” I did not mean for him to think that. “Illya!” I reach out and take his hand. “The reason I wasn’t shocked that we were lovers is that I *have* loved you for...well, a lot longer then six months. Almost since I met you, in fact. Definitely since South Africa. And I’ve certainly thought about going forward on those feelings. I’m just a bit surprised to learn that I finally did something about it, and a lot more surprised to learn I still have my balls afterwards.”

“You did something?” Illya’s tone is openly amused.

“You mean YOU made the first move?”

“Now you sound shocked.”

“Of course I am.” I come back into the bedroom. “You’ve made your distaste for ‘masculine assignments’ very evident. To the point where even Waverly hesitates to suggest anything. At the last point in time I remember, I was busily trying to devise some scenario romantic enough to sweep you off your feet and sober enough that you wouldn't feel justified in killing me the next morning. Although..” I give the matter a moments thought. “I suppose it makes sense, now that I think about it.”

“What?”

“That you would have to start matters.” I nod, satisfied with my conclusion. “ I mean, I’m a flirt, but I’m not wild enough to make a move on someone with your levels of assassination training. U.N.C.L.E. hires the brave, not the suicidal.”

He smiles. “And you thought ‘moving’ on me would be suicidal?”

“I saw what you did to the last man who made a grab.”

Illya tries for offended, but succeeds at gratified. “He was a T.H.R.U.S.H. interrogator.”

“Even so.” I shudder slightly at the memory. “Seeing someone's balls ripped off... it tends to dampen the fiercest amour.”

“And now you are...amorous?”

“Now I am... interested.” I move over to his arms, which open comfortably for me. Our lips meet, opening slightly under pressure. His arms come around me, strong and steady. That is one of the great pleasures of kissing a man. The sensation of strength. The illusion of safety. With Illya, I know it is no illusion. My pulse quickens as his fingers spread on my shoulders, and when I step back my breathing is not quite steady. “Now, I’m amorous.”

“I had planned dinner.” Illya raises his fingers to my lips. “You did not eat yesterday.”

I close my lips briefly over the sensitive pads. “I’d bet I didn’t do this yesterday either.”

“I thought you were hungry.”

“For you,” I whisper.

Pulling back his fingers, he again claims my lips. This time the kiss is deep and passionate, openly exploring. By the time he is finished my last doubt is vanquished.

“You’re good at that,” I mummer.

He chuckles in my ear. “As you said. Four months. I must be doing something right.”

We strip quickly, clothes dropping discarded to the floor. Later I will indulge in the refined pleasures of watching him undress. Just now I want skin.

I don’t know if he pushes or I pull, but we fall together onto the bed. No time for pillows or positioning. He rolls me face down and slides on top of me. Heavy, but also warm and very, very, welcome.

Illya’s lips trace the bones of my shoulder. His fingers brush over my groin. The result sends a wave of pleasure pulsing like electrical shock between my brain and my balls. “Oooh,” I moan. “ And that was it.”

It is sort of strange. Enjoyable, but strange. Like a first date, except I know we’ve been doing this before. Frequently. Pleasurably. I think my body remembers. It’s just my mind that is vague on the details.

Eased up to my knees, I open myself to him. Blatant. Unguarded. My mind screams that it has been years since I allowed such dangerous liberties. My body shouts back ‘Illya’. Between the two there is not even a question as to the outcome. Illya and pleasure triumphs by a rout.

I feel his fingers slick at my opening, and then the blunt head of his cock firm against me. Too soon if this sport is strange to me. But Illya would never hurt me. That I remember and trust without memory. He is at me, then in me, then deep within me, moving slowly as my body relaxes against him.

He is bigger then I had expected. After four month I could not still be that tight. But he knows how to move so the stretched sensation is pleasure far more then pain. Lord, and I thought I was the great seducer. He could give me a lesson - and is.

His hands on my hips pull me tight against him until I feel the brush of his balls against mine. Fully seated. Fully taken. My ass is his. He starts a steady rhythm and his hands move down to claim my cock as well. His lips tease my spine in counterpoint to his strokes, and I can not contain my moan. The pleasure is too strong.

Picking up speed, he drives me closer and closer to ecstasy with each strong thrust. Each firm stroke of my cock. We cum together, his rough palm milking me even as his hot sperm fills me.

I lay in his arms, slightly sore but perfectly relaxed. Utterly content. Only one last question springs to mind. “I bottom?”

Illya’s tongue circles my ear. “You do until you remember what I like.”

I kiss his throat. “That’s not much motivation to recover.”

 

* (NOT) THE END*

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©KKR 2012


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